One Woman
by RebeccaAnn
Summary: Most tramp steamers had all male crews-except The Venture. It had one woman.
1. Kendra

"Are you out of your mind, Eric? A woman?"

First mate Benjamin Hayes crossed his huge arms across his chest. He stared hard at his captain and friend. The fact that he had used Englehorn's first name meant Ben was speaking to the other man in the capacity of a friend, not as first mate. Ben could not imagine as the captain of the Venture that Eric would ever consider taking on a female passenger.

Eric gave an uncharacteristic shrug. "She asked me for passage."

"Since when do you take on charity cases?"

Ben already knew the answer to that, but decided to leave it alone. He knew damn well when Eric started taking on charity cases, or at least why he did, but reminding Eric would only irritate him and put him even more on the defensive.

"Miss Wright has offered to work on the ship." Eric continued. "I do not consider that charity."

Ben slapped a beefy hand to his forehead. "_That_ makes all the difference. C'mon, Eric_. _You put a woman in the middle of a crew like the one we got, and they'll tear her to shreds."

Eric's eyes became chips of ice. "Any sailor that even looks at her funny will be keel hauled."

"You talkin' like you've already made up your mind. Thought you were asking for my opinion."

"I am." Eric removed his cap and tossed it across the cabin. "And I'm asking you to tell me why I feel like I have lost my mind!" He suddenly shouted. Eric began pacing back and forth in a jerky line.

Ben barely understood the last part of what Eric had said. The man's accent became as thick as pecan pie when he got upset.

"You_ have_ lost your mind. A woman on this ship? It's just beggin' for trouble. Why you lookin' for trouble, man?"

Eric let out a long, slow breath and then he continued, his voice quieter. "She's just lost her father. He was an American Naval officer. He served on the _USS_ Iowa." Eric looked up into Ben's dark eyes.

"You ever engage the _Iowa_?"

Ben knew the answer when Eric frowned.

Ben shook his head. He recognized a lost cause when he saw one. Eric wasn't that complicated of a man, except when it came to the War. The man either had a strange sense of duty, or the hugest conscience ever known to mankind. Eric felt that he was personally responsible for his country's actions during The War. Of course that was purely ridiculous, but what Eric Englehorn set his mind to, Ben had learned over the years they had been together, was as immovable as the Rock of Gibraltar.

"You followed orders." Ben lowered his voice. "Whose fault is it anyway, the gun or the finger on the trigger?" He had been through it in his own mind dozens of times before. It was the only way to wake up everyday and not be barking mad.

The things he had seen other men do. The things _he_ had done. The things he had _contemplated_ doing. Ben shook his head slowly. "We were both soldiers. We were both _guns_."

A familiar strained expression crossed Eric's face. "So you have said before."

The steamer sighed up and down against its moorings. Ben could hear the shouts of the longshoremen on the docks and the pulsing screams of the wheeling gulls. A breeze wafted into the map room bringing with it the familiar sharp smells of tar, metal, and water.

"You want my opinion? Well here it is: I don't want a woman on board."

Before Eric could respond, a sailor knocked on the map room's door jam. He poked his grizzled head into the room. "Cap'n, sir. There's a woman down on the dock askin' permission to board. Name's Miss Wright. What do ya want me to do with her?"

Without looking at Ben, Eric gave the sailor a curt nod. "Bring her up here, Mason."

"Yes sir."

Annoyance flashed through Ben. He leaned forward and clutched the side of the map room's table. Ben lowered his voice. "What the hell is going on?"

Eric had retrieved his captain's cap and was adjusting it back on his head. He gathered up a few charts and slipped them underneath his arm.

"I need to take care of a few things." He moved toward the door.

Ben caught him by the arm. "Where you goin'? This girl is on her way up here. You expect me to talk to her all by myself?"

"Why do you think I invited her to the _Venture_?"

"She must be a real looker."

The picture was becoming clear, and Ben was mildly disgusted with what he saw. He had known Eric for a long time and he was no cake-eater.

"I want you to meet her. I've got to go. Tell me what you decide."

Ben put his hands on his hips. "You're kidding me."

Ignoring Ben's comment, Eric turned away and then walked through the door. The conversation was over. Ben heard footsteps outside of the wheelhouse, and then a quick murmured conversation. Steeling himself, but not really knowing why, Ben turned to meet the woman who stood outside the map room. He stepped out from behind the table and stood akimbo and waited for her to enter the room.

Ben wasn't quite sure who he had expected to come through that door, but it was not the tall, dark-headed woman that pulled the door open and strode into the room. Instead of trepidation or even fear-which quite frankly he _had_ expected, there was a look of boldness on her face. She moved forward with purpose extended her hand.

"You must be Mr. Hayes. The captain has told me a lot about you. My name is Kendra Wright."

With hand still extended, she continued. "My father served in the U.S. Navy. I understand the workings of the power structure on a ship. The captain is the head of the ship, but the first mate is the brain, if you get my meaning. I know it's not Eric…" She blushed slightly, "…it's not the Captain that I need to convince, but you. I am here to ask permission for passage to England. I will work, as I have no money. I can cook, clean, and I have some nursing skills. I also have some rudimentary navigation skills, and I know my way around a ship."

Her hand stayed unwavering in the air. He glanced from her hand to her face and then back to her hand again which remained solidly in the air. Ben wondered just how long she would leave it there. Suppressing a grin, he could tell by the tilt of her chin and firmness of her jaw, that the hand would stay right where it was for three hours if need be. Ben now knew why Eric had considered her request; this was as a woman to be reckoned with. Here was no shrinking violet, but still, put a female on the decks of the _Venture_ for more than an hour, and all hell would break loose. There was no question in Ben's mind.

"You understand the Venture has a crew of a bunch of superstitious old sea dogs who won't like it one bit that there is a woman on board." Ben's hands now hung at his hips.

"I'm willing to take that chance."

"You're askin' _me_ to take that chance. I'm in charge of discipline, not you."

"That's why I'm here, to ask you." Miss Wright took a small step forward.

Ben crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't like it."

"I appreciate your honesty, but please hear me out." She took a deep breath and lowered her hand, but not completely. "My father has recently passed away."

"The captain told me that. My condolences."

She seemed to brush his words away. "My aunt who has control over my father's estate found out about my friendship with Captain Englehorn, and has refused to give me any of the money my father meant for me to have. She lost her only son in the War. She loathes Germans." The last sentence was delivered with thick contempt. "I am quite sure Eric is not personally responsible for Thomas's death."

She straightened a bit and hooked her dark hair behind her ear. "I have nowhere to go. The sea is familiar to me and it is where I wish to be. I'll work hard."

"You know, I believe you, but that ain't the problem. These are hard men. You aren't exactly ugly. That'll cause problems, I guarantee that. There is no getting' around that fact."

"If the situation becomes awkward, then you can leave me in England. I have a few distant cousins on my mother's side that live in Bristol."

"The situation will get awkward the second the crew sees you coming on board with a suitcase." Ben dropped his arms to his sides and walked around the table.

"Then I'll bring a duffel bag."

Ben placed his large hands on the table and leaned over to Miss Wright's eye level. "If you know so much about life on a ship, then you know we can't spend all of our time protecting you from lovesick sailors. And some of them ain't lovesick. Some of them are just mean and nasty."

"I have had to take care of myself for a long time, even before my father died. I am not defenseless by any means."

Ben covered his laughter with a gruff cough. What did she have, a Tommy Gun in her duffel bag? "Miss Wright, by the looks of you, I am guessin' your father was an officer. You've gotta know that a sailor would rather drink ten gallons of bilge than bother with an officer's daughter, but the problem is, you're father ain't here."

"If I have to, I will stay in my cabin."

"You'll have to come out some time. Which reminds me, we don't have no ladies rooms on this ship."

She waved her hand dismissively. "I've taken care of my business in many a WC, Mr. Hayes." Then she took a step forward. The skin around her green eyes tightened. "I'm asking for two weeks, that's all."

Ben had to admit that the woman had a good point. It took maybe a day shy of two weeks to get to Southampton. What could happen in two weeks? Plenty, but nothing fatal, Ben supposed. But if something crazy did happen, it was seventy-five miles to Bristol. How was she going to go that far with no money and only 'distant' relatives to help?

"_Tha_t ain't my concern." He murmured.

"Excuse me, is that your answer?" Miss Wright said with some agitation. "Eric led me to believe…"

Ben grimaced. "That I'm some pushover?"

Miss Wright blushed. "No. The captain led me to believe quite the opposite, but that you had a good heart."

Ben glowered at her, but it was no use. He couldn't deny it. He was impressed. She had moxie, that was for certain, and he could respect that. He almost believed she _could_ take care of herself. She'd kept up with him and had answered every one of his questions without being intimidated or resorting to wheedling or turning on her feminine wiles-until the end, that is, when she sensed he was weakening.

_Eric owes me one. A damn_ big_ one._

Ben extended his hand over the table and grasped hers. Her tanned hand was slender, but her handshake was firm.


	2. Zarzis

"Miss Wright is gone, sir."

Captain Eric Englehorn looked up from the tidal charts he was studying. A cloud of blue grey smoke wreathed his head. He straightened up and took his cigarette out of his mouth. "What do you mean she's gone?"

"Miss Wright is not on the ship."

"Have you checked her cabin?"

The large dark haired Portuguese sailor nodded.

"The hold?"

"Yes." He held up his fingers as he continued to count the places he had looked for Kendra. "And the galley, the decks, the washrooms..."

"I get the point." Eric glanced at his wristwatch. "We have been at port for exactly 17 minutes."

"Then she has gone ashore already, no?"

Eric swore as he stubbed out his cigarette. "I told you to keep your eye on her, Neves."

"She said she was-" the sailor paused. He clasped his hands behind his back, looked up to the ceiling, and rocked back on his heels. "Miss Kendra said she was going to take a bubble bath. You do not expect me to keep my eyes on her while she is…"

"Of course not, you buffoon. She just told you that to get you out of her way."

Eric slammed his fist down on the map room table. The ashtray jumped and tipped over spilling its contents all over his hand. He jerked his hand away and rubbed the ashes off on his trousers.

"Even if she hadn't been in the bathtub, Miss Kendra does not listen to me. I tell her all the time, probably every day, I say, "Miss Kendra, the Captain says you will not go into Zarzis…"

"Neves!"

Neves took a step back and fanned his hands. "Sorry, sir. It's just…well, you know how she is."

Yes, Eric knew how Kendra Wright was. When he wasn't spending his valuable time distracted by the way her long dark braid swayed when she walked or how she looked at him out from under her lashes with those green eyes of hers, he was busy being frustrated nearly past endurance by her supreme stubbornness. It hadn't taken too many days to discover that 'telling' Kendra anything was a complete waste of time.

_Don't fall asleep on the deck. _

I won't fall off!

_Don't get too close to the stink badger._

But he's so cute!

_Don't wear that blouse in front of the crew. _

Who are you to tell me what to wear!

_Don't make friends with the chimpanzee. _

He's lonely!

_Don't go ashore in Porto. _

But it's a beautiful day.

_And whatever you do, _don't_ go ashore by yourself in Zarzis. _

And here was the answer to that. Gone seventeen minutes after docking.

He was the captain, damn it. He was used to having his orders followed. Most orders she did follow, but there was an invisible line that once Eric crossed, it was like trying to wrestle a wildcat.

"I'm going to lock her up in a cage." Eric said under his breath.

_And isn't that what you do with a wildcat? _

Eric fished a ring of keys out of his pocket, knelt down, and then grabbed the heavy lockbox that was under the map room table. He pulled it out, and with a quick flick of his wrist opened the lock. He extracted his service pistol, dropped the magazine out into his palm, and then with a quick nod of approval, reloaded the gun. Eric reached back into the box for another magazine and his holster. He shut the box, locked it, and stood up.

"Neves, you're coming with me."

"Yes sir."

Eric began buckling the straps of his shoulder holster, when Hayes opened the door and entered the wheelhouse. The first mate took a quick look at Neves and then saw that Eric was arming himself. He frowned.

"Captain?"

"I'm leaving you in charge, Hayes. I'm going ashore with Neves." Eric turned to the sailor. "Wait for me on the pier. I'll be down in a few minutes."

Neves touched his cap and then ducked out the door.

"What's going on, Eric?"

"That insufferable woman has disappeared! I told her after her stunt in Porto that she was not allowed to go ashore without a chaperone. She laughed at me, did you know that?"

Hayes rubbed an imaginary itch on the end of his nose to hide his grin. "By 'that woman' I assume you're talking about Miss Wright."

Eric glared at Hayes. "Who else?" He finished putting on his holster and then jammed the pistol home.

But then a look of concern flashed across Hayes' dark features. As Eric pushed past Hayes, Ben stopped Eric with a hand on his shoulder. "Zarzis is a cesspool."

"Don't you think I know that? I'm not leaving her here, no matter how big of a fool she is." Eric pulled on his jacket and then stashed the extra magazine into one of the inner pockets.

Hayes folded his arms. "Do you want me to help look for her?"

Eric shook his head angrily. "Neves will be enough. Just take care of the cargo so when I do bring her back, we can leave."

The sunrise sent thousands of light diamonds skittering across the bay of Zarzis, and as the sun slowly climbed in the sky, it became apparent that the clouds marring the perfect turquoise sky the day before had been blown out to sea during the night. The early morning air was clean, clear, and dominated by a pervasive salty tang.

Eric disembarked the Venture without noticing any of the beauty surrounding him. He was focused on one thing, and crystal clear waters, lazily swaying palms, and white sand would not deter him. He passed a group of fishermen sitting crossed-legged mending their nets. They jabbered amongst themselves, wholly unconcerned by the ship captain that stalked past them.

He continued up the boldered jetty, and made his way silently toward the mainland. With each step his ire grew.

_What was that woman thinking? _

It was quite obvious that she wasn't thinking at all. Stupid headstrong woman! Didn't she know how dangerous it was here for a woman-especially a white woman on her own? This was nothing like Porto. Although nothing had actually happened to her in the Portuguese port city, he was still very angry when four hours later she came waltzing back to the Venture. Her long black hair was flowing freely down her back and she was carrying an old hand woven basket filled with two bottles of Port wine and fresh cut daisies.

She had an enormous smile on her beautiful face that Eric suspected had little to do with how lovely she had found Porto to be.

Zarzis was a different story. Here, she was a white woman, a _beautifu_l white woman naively strolling through the bazaar buying little trinkets for her self and handing out pennies to orphans, no doubt.

Her argument was always that she could take care of herself. And yes, Eric had to agree that Kendra was an exceptionally capable woman. She was strong, uncomplaining, intelligent, and very independent, but the last thing in the world Eric wanted was for this wild African seaport to prove her wrong. Because it would. Ruthlessly.

Eric clenched his jaw and actually growled.

Neves followed, marking Eric several paces behind. To his credit, the sailor sensed his captain's growing anger and said nothing. It took a half a hour to navigate the outskirts of Zarzis, first passing by low growing bushes and sporadic palms, series of shoulder high white washed stone walls, and finally through the arched entry ways that lead in to the city proper.

An old woman with a black and white head dress sat against a stone wall selling brightly colored turquoise, jade, and orange woven scarves and robes. She called out to Eric half-heartedly, but he continued past her without as much as a glance. A squinty eyed, scraggly bearded fruit vendor smiled at the prospect of another customer. He offered Eric a watermelon, but was sorely disappointed. Eric swept past him and continued toward the growing din of the bazaar.

A man driving a small herd of goats shouted curses in Arabic and shook his fist when Eric and Neves plowed through the middle of the herd, scattering the bleating animals in several directions.

Eric stopped at the entrance to the bazaar proper. He took a few moments to school his anger. At least that is what he told himself it was. Anger at having to waste his time wandering around Zarzis. Anger at being defied. Anger at her stupidity. But there was no helping it now. She was out there somewhere, and it was up to him to find her and bring her back to the Venture. How many times had members of his crew gone missing drunk or womanizing on shore leave? This was the same, wasn't it?

Willing himself to relax, Eric lounged up against the wall and folded his arms over his chest. His sharp blue eyes darted continuously to the right and left taking in the chaotic scene in front of him. The narrow walkway was lined with dozens of displays of fruits, vegetables, jewelry, silks, woven mats, brass pots, and cruses of olive oil. Vendors cajoled and convinced. Customers haggled. The occasional dog barked. Goats bleated. Their combined voices washed over Eric, leaving him unaffected. After several minutes, he finally spotted a group of eight young men ranging in age from what looked to be eight or nine years old to fifteen or sixteen. They were dressed in little better than rags, but had bright eyes and clever looking faces.

"Neves." Eric said in a subdued voice.

The sailor stepped to Eric's side.

Eric pulled a cigarette out from a pocket in his coat and placed it between his lips. He dug a match out of his trousers' pocket, flicked the end with his thumbnail, and then cupped the flame with his hand as he lit the cigarette. He gestured subtly with his head.

"Do you see that group of young boys over there by the fig vendor?"

Neves nodded.

"Go tell them I have a business proposition for them."

Neves nodded again and then headed towards the group of boys.

Eric watched Neves pass by an aggressive date seller, side step a beggar, and stiff arm a would-be cutpurse. As the sailor neared the group of eight young men, he held up his hands in a placating motion. The young men became obviously wary, and backed up a few steps, moving as one as if they were a school of fish.

Yes, those boys were exactly who he was looking for. They would know the bazaar, the people, and the language better than Eric, even though he had visited the city several times in his travels. They would get answers were a white German captain would only be rebuffed. He continued puffing on his cigarette and watching Neves slickly negotiating with the group of, Eric had to admit, ruffians and thieves. But he didn't give a damn who they were or what they did; he needed their help.

Neves was good at what he was doing. He hunched over to minimize his true size and strength, and could affect an air of innocence that always got the sailor what he was after. Eric watched as the leader of the pack of wayward young men slowly closed the distance between Neves and himself. The boy nodded, and then quickly shook his head and drew a filthy finger quickly across his throat. Neves' head dipped even lower, all the while talking like mad. The boy finally glanced to either side and jerked his head at his companions. From the right and from the left the rest of the gang slowly converged on Neves. One of them drew back his tattered coat to reveal a rusty curved knife.

Finally Neves turned halfway around and pointed at Eric. Now it was Eric's turn. He took one last deep drag on his cigarette, tossed it down, and the deliberately ground it into the dirt. He carefully folded his arms across his chest and stared back at the gang leader until the boy dropped his gaze.

Deal done.

Neves came loping back to Eric.

"They are willing. They asked a king's ransom, but I agreed. I did not think it wise to barter for Miss Kendra's safety."

Eric gave the sailor a curt nod. "Good work, Neves. Go tell our business partners I'll be heading for The Little Mermaid. Tell them when they find her to send a runner and under no circumstances are they to approach Kendra, especially if she has found some trouble." Eric straightened his cap. "Tell them to meet us back at the Venture. When Miss Wright safely aboard, they'll get their money."

The Little Mermaid was a bar run by a one-legged Danish man named Jorgen. During his trips to Zarzis in the past, Eric had spent his time and money there.

"Yes sir."

Neves jogged off into the milling crowd back to the rag tag band of young Arabs. Eric watched as his sailor relayed the instructions. All of the young men nodded vigorously and then looked over at Eric. The tallest one, the leader, flashed Eric a toothy, feral grin, and then clumsily saluted Eric before the boy faded into the crowd.

Then the rest of the group of young thugs dispersed in eight different directions, and the bright, bustling, kaleidoscopic bazaar quickly enveloped them all.

Eric kept glancing down at his watch. Every minute that passed was a minute too many. Anything could be happening to Kendra. On one hand she could be bartering with a merchant, buying blood oranges, or enjoying a drink in some _meqhah. _On the other hand there was a very real possibility she had already run into one of the many wolves that trolled the bazaar for women exactly like Kendra. Beautiful or white or alone.

Zarzis was infamous for what the local police quaintly called 'lost women'. The only ones that were ever really looked for were the daughters and sometimes young wives of visiting Europeans-those who had the money to pay for searches. Sometimes the women were found. Most of the time they were not. Women who disappeared into the whirlpool of human trafficking that was Zarzis were rarely seen again, and if they were, it was almost better if they hadn't been found. Eric had heard hair-raising tales about abducted woman finally being found months or years later.

For what had to have been the one-hundredth time, the feeling of tight fear tried to crawl up his throat. Eric pulled a hefty serving of anger out of his ready reserves and swatted the fear away.

_I am not some eighteen-year-old boy crawling through the foul muck of a foxhole in Calais for the first time. I have done his before. _Eric berated himself. _I have known fear before_.

_No, no you haven't. _A small voice mocked. _Not this kind. Always for yourself. Never for a woman._

A waif who had approached his side to beg for a copper penny caught a glance at the curtain of rage that suddenly cloaked the man's face. She squeaked and then fled. Eric stalked through the crowd. He didn't care that he was knocking into people, pushing them aside. No one mattered. Only Kendra mattered. Only finding that ridiculous woman and throttling her for wasting his time, his money, his sanity was all that mattered.

Eric continued navigating, if clumsily, his way through the bazaar. He tried to imagine what Kendra would be looking for. Perfume? Jewelry? Eric had to admit that he didn't have a clue.

More out of desperation than actual knowledge, Eric stopped at a table covered with jewelry.

"Ah, you are an intelligent man, looks at the quality of these..." The owner of the stall began.

"I am looking for a white woman. She is about this tall," Eric held his hand up to his ear, "long dark hair and dressed in a blue blouse and a khaki skirt."

He knew exactly what she was wearing. Eric had given her room a quick search before he left the Venture, and had found her sailing garb folded neatly on the end of her cot. She didn't have a lot of other clothing besides the trousers and work shirts she wore on the Venture, so when he looked in her quarter's small cupboard he immediately noticed that her blue blouse and khaki skirt were missing.

"You come to me asking for a woman? Is that what I am selling? No, I am selling this beautiful jewelry. Although, if it is a woman you desire…" He said lecherously.

"Have you seen her or not?" Eric barked.

"Are you going to buy something or not? Come now, I am a man of business. I need to feed my family."

Eric dug into his pocket and pulled out a few coins. He tossed them on the table. "What do get for this?"

"Not even this small ring." The man produced a small plain silver band.

Getting angrier by the moment, but suspecting the man may have information, Eric pulled out a small handful of coins and slapped them down. "How about this?"

"Ah, for this? Oh, yes, for this you can buy one of these." The vendor plucked up a silver chain and draped it over his forearm. Dangling at the end of it was an intricately carved pendant. "It is as beautiful as the woman you are looking for, no?"

Eric grunted noncommittally. "I'll take it."

"Excellent choice." The man deftly wrapped the necklace in a bit of brown paper and tied it with a length of twine. With an oily smile, he handed the package to Eric, who took it impatiently from the man's hand and jammed it in his pant's pocket.

Eric pulled aside his jacket to reveal his holstered pistol. "Now you give me what I want."

The man threw up his hands. "No need to get violent. She was here, thirty minutes ago. She paid too much for some of these bracelets." He gestured toward a bunch of brass bangles hanging on a piece of bleached driftwood.

Eric's patience danced on a knife's blade. He put his hands on the edge of the table and leaned over until he was eye to eye with the jewelry vendor. "So you did see her. Did she say anything?"

The man shook his head in mock sorrow. "Ah, my memory, it is not so good anymore."

Eric grabbed the man's collar and yanked him forward. Brass and silver bracelets and necklaces scattered across the table and clanked noisily to the ground. The man's now sweating face was two inches from the tip of Eric's nose. He drew his pistol out and pressed it against the man's cheek. The merchant's eyes darted over to the gun and then back to Eric's face. The man licked his lips.

"Do you remember now?" Eric asked through gritted teeth.

"Yes. Yes I remember. She was so beautiful I forgot myself." The man panted. "The Veiled Camel. She wanted coffee. I directed her to The Veiled Camel."

Panic flashed through Eric's gut. "You imbecile! Do you know what that place is?" Eric jammed his pistol back into its holster and then re-established his grip with both hands on the man's collar.

"It has good coffee." The man squeaked.

"You bastard. Is Talos your friend? Do you get a cut?" Anger had been slowly building since the moment Eric had discovered Kendra had left the Venture. He finally let it flood out, spitting and crackling.

Eric heaved the man forward several inches off of the ground and then sent him flying backwards into the mud and wattle wall that was behind the vending tables. As the man struck the wall, his arms splayed out like a rag doll. His head hit the wall with a sickening thud and then he slid down like a dropped anchor.

Blood stained the new cracks in the wall.

The captain dashed away from the jewelry vendor's unconscious body and plunged into the swirling mass of shoppers, merchants, and thieves. The anxiety Eric had been feeling before was suddenly magnified a thousand times. The Veiled Camel! He knew the place well. He'd had to extract members of his crew from that hole enough times to know it was not only known for its excellent coffee. The place was a damn brothel. The owner of the establishment was a ruthless Greek named Talos. He had an astounding array of beautiful women who worked for him. Talos only would have the best, and not all of his 'employees' were there of their own free will.

"Captain!"

Neves' voice cut through the din of the bazaar.

The Portuguese sailor jogged toward the captain, pushing his way past a group of chattering women holding baskets full of fresh produce. He wore a look of deep concern on his face.

"Capitan. I have found her..."

"The Veiled Camel, I know." Eric said tersely. He doffed his jacket and quickly unbuckled his holster and handed it over to Neves. "For safe keeping? When we get there, come in a few minutes after me. I don't want whoever is in there to know we are together."

The sailor nodded. "Like Cardiz."

Eric fingered a thin scar beneath his left ear. "Only no blood this time, eh?"


	3. Captured

As Kendra navigated the bustling crowds of the bazaar, her suspicions grew about the two shabbily dressed men that ambled along about thirty feet behind her. When she had stopped a few minutes earlier at a vendor selling dates, she noticed the men had also stopped. She wouldn't even have noticed them at all, but she had happened to look up and saw one of the men staring and grinning at her, his thin lips stretching over completely toothless gums. The brazen way he had made eye contact with her had sent a little trickle of wariness through Kendra. But maybe he was just staring at her, getting his 'eye full' as her father used to say. Kendra was not unaware of her looks. She had attracted unwanted attention before

When she had stopped again, this time to buy a small brass box inlaid with mother-of-pearl, the two men had also stopped at the neighboring stall and fingered curved daggers with ivory handles. Coincidence? Kendra glanced up and took a quick inventory. Gaptooth, as she dubbed the toothless one, was, with exception of the absence of his teeth, very ordinary looking with nondescript scraggly black hair and wearing a simple brown robe with a darker brown sash. The other man, Blackbeard, wore a pair of khaki trousers and a white open-necked shirt. What made him stand out was the bright orange band tied around his head. It was like a beacon. If they were trailing her, they definitely needed lessons in how to make themselves more inconspicuous.

Kendra merged back into the flowing crowd of people. She saw a boy hawking blood oranges and decided to stop one more time, just to be certain. If the men were following her, she needed to formulate a plan. She stopped and haggled with the boy for a couple of oranges. They arrived at a price, and Kendra paid the boy a few copper coins. When he handed the oranges to her, she pretended to drop one of them. As she bent over, she glanced down the line of stalls and saw the men, three stalls away, doing a poor job of looking as if they were serious about the silk scarves they had draped in the their hands.

Again, Gaptooth caught her eye, but looked away when Blackbeard punched him in the arm.

There, the matter was settled. The two roguish looking men _were_ following her. A small knot of anxiety formed in her stomach. Kendra glanced at her watch. It was nearly noon. She had been wandering in the bazaar for over four hours! She made a disgusted sound and dropped her arm to her side. Kendra had only meant to be gone an hour. Exactly how far she was away from the docks and the Venture, she could not even guess.

Kendra figured she had two choices. She could either turn around and try to find her way back to the Venture, or she could continue on to the Veiled Camel. According to the jewelry vendor, the coffee house should literally be around the corner. Weighing the alternatives in her mind, Kendra came to the conclusion that continuing on to the coffee house was the best thing to do. There was no denying it. She was lost. Kendra couldn't have made her way back to the Venture with any confidence. The men would sense that and take advantage of the situation, she was sure of it.

She could ask for help and directions in the meqhah if the men followed her inside the place. Tucking the blood oranges into to her bag, Kendra strode away from the fruit stall. The men followed. Kendra abandoned all pretense of shopping and quickened her pace. She gripped her bag and slung over her shoulder, the contents jostling and clinking as she hurried through the crowd.

Finally, she saw the sign that the jewelry vendor had described to her, a rather feminine looking camel with what must have once been a glittery golden veil. Relief washed through her. She entered the coffee house and stood by the entrance waiting for her heart to stop pounding and her eyes to adjust to the shadowy, smoky interior of the coffee house. There was a murmur of voices, punctuated sporadically with low laughs and the clinking of coffee cups. Clutching her bag, she walked to the nearest table and dropped into the chair. Kendra repositioned the chair so she could see anyone that entered the Veiled Camel. So far, no one had. Maybe she had been imagining the whole thing.

The door opened and a slice of light flashed across the faded wooden floor. For a brief moment Kendra could see the dust motes floating in the bright air, and then door slammed shut. Kendra saw Gaptooth and Blackbeard. They were wearing smug looks. Gaptooth lounged by the door, Blackbeard walked over to the bar and sat down.

Kendra sat rooted to her chair. Surely the people who ran the establishment would help her. Trying to look calm, she scanned the room looking for a waiter. She saw a short, dark-haired man wearing a crisp white apron approaching her table. His neat pencil-thin mustache twitched when he flashed her a neat smile. When he arrived, he executed a quick, formal bow.

"How may I serve you, Miss?"

Kendra leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. "I need to speak with someone. The owner, please. I was followed here by two men. Those two that just came in. Could someone summon the authorities?" Her voice was breathy as her words rushed.

The small man bowed again. "Ah. You are here now at the Veiled Camel. All will be well." He smiled and adjusted the serving towel that hung over his forearm. "Let Nikos get you some coffee"

Kendra cleared her throat and shifted in her chair. "I would prefer it if you would summon the police." She looked over Nikos' shoulder. Blackbeard was draining a tall mug of some sort of ale. Gaptooth had joined his friend and was sitting on a stool, legs crossed at the knee, and staring at her. The look on his face made her shiver. He made a deliberate show of taking a cigarette out of his pocket, putting it between his lips and lighting it. Kendra tried to swallow, but her throat had gone dry.

"Don't worry, Nikos will take care of everything, Miss. You stay right here. I will bring you coffee while you wait.

Kendra started to protest again, but the waiter had turned away and was trotting toward the bar. He disappeared behind a curtain of strung beads that hung in back of the bar.

The air in the cafe suddenly seemed thick and muggy. She picked up her bag and rummaged around in it until she found the fan she had bought earlier that morning. She flicked it open and fanned herself so hard, that damp tendrils of hair lifted off of her forehead. Kendra peered out of the small window, and then back to the bar. Gaptooth and Blackbeard were both drinking beer with their backs towards her, now. She saw another white woman sipping coffee a few tables away. Two men sat at at a table on the other side of the room smoking cigars and drinking coffee.

She heard the clinking swish of the beads being brushed aside. The waiter, Nikos, was carrying a tray laden with an intricately carved silver coffee pot, a single cup, a milk jug, and a sugar bowl. He flashed another tight smile, his white teeth gleaming in contrast against his smooth dark skin. He wove his way between the tables with practiced grace, sidestepping the chairs, tables, and brass spittoons that cluttered the floor.

"The best coffee in Zarzis." He said as he put the tray down in front of Kendra. "The proper people have been notified. You will be attended to very soon." He picked up the coffee pot and filled her cup.

Relief swept through her. "Thank you."

Nikos bowed, smiled again, and then went off to attend to the other woman.

Kendra picked up the milk jug and poured a small amount into the steaming liquid. She watched the milk make swirling patterns on the surface of the coffee. She raised the cup to her lips with both hands and tried the coffee, but it was still too hot to drink. The captain would be furious. But what did he expect? Englehorn treated her as if she was a child, smothering her with strict demands and condescending assumptions. No wonder she had felt mutinous. Why Englehorn could not get it through his very thick skull that Kendra was a grown woman, fully capable of looking after herself was beyond her. She could make her own decisions, she could take care of herself, and she certainly would _not_ be caged by the whims of a man who obviously thought he stilled lived in the Middle Ages. Whether the captain knew it or not, he had issued a challenge rather than an ultimatum when he had lectured her after the 'Porto Incident', as she called it.

_You will _not _leave this ship unchaperoned again!_

Well, she had shown him, hadn't she? Quelling the irritating thought that she was been childish, Kendra recalled the exhilaration she had felt when she had succeeded in sneaking off of the Venture not five minutes after it had docked. A dazzling blue sky and exotic sights had greeted her. Her nose had been filled with the tangy scent of the sea; sweet smell of ripe fruit; the musky odor of goats and camels; the pungent aroma of spices; and the meaty smell of bits of meat being roasted on sticks. Her eyes had feasted on a kaleidoscope of brightly colored cloths, tables of jewelry, turbans, robes, and exotic tattoos, carved brass items, and even a few sparkling rubies and diamonds. The place was a bustling rich, treasure chest. Kendra had felt like a cunning pirate.

She tried another sip of coffee. It was still very hot, but bearable. It was dark and strong.

Kendra heard the footsteps behind her a heartbeat too late. The cold, steel barrel of a pistol pressed up against her cheek. A low, gravely voice whispered into her left ear.

"Be very quiet and very still, Miss."

Kendra's mouth went dry. Without thinking, she shifted forward in her chair. The metallic grinding of the trigger being cocked jangled in her ear. She froze.

"You will do as you are told." The voice rasped.

Kendra fought the numbing dread that sprang up in her chest and down her arms. Where were the 'proper people', where were the men Nikos had promised would be attending to her? Where were the authorities? Where was help? Panic rose up inside of her, and then with a sudden chill, Kendra realized that the 'proper people' _were_ attending her. Nikos had never said he had spoken with the police, or the authorities. She had assumed the 'proper people' were people who would help her. She suddenly felt supremely foolish.

She glanced up at the bar. Both Gaptooth and Blackbeard were laughing. The other white woman in the room was staring at Kendra with a mix of indifference and boredom.

Kendra looked down. Her hand was trembling. A few drops of coffee splashed over the edge of the cup and landed on her hand. She bit down on her lip against the pain of the burn.

"Now, be a good little girl and put that coffee down. I think you are done with it, no?"

Anger at acting like such an idiot, anger at allowing herself to be duped, anger at being called a little girl converged and overpowered her fear. She gripped the cup of steaming coffee and flung it over her shoulder. The man behind her jerked back and cried out. The cup glanced off of her assailant and bounced back over Kendra's shoulder and then smashed on the floor in front of her.

She bolted to her feet, knocking into the table and sending it skidding forward. Kendra took two frantic steps before her foot landed in the middle of the smashed coffee cup. She slipped and lost her balance. Shouts filled the Veiled Camel. As Kendra fell, a body crashed into her and rammed her to the floor.

She wriggled and thrashed against the weight of the man on top of her. The brute sprang up and straddled Kendra's hips. He grabbed one of her arms and shoved it into the small of her back. A terrific bolt of pain seared through her shoulder. With her free hand, Kendra reached out and grabbed the biggest piece of broken china she could see. She felt the sharp edge bite into her palm, but she didn't care. The man's hand groped toward her free arm, but she managed to evade his frantic grasping.

The man gave up on trying to pin her other arm down. Fingers splayed, he smacked her head against the floor and ground her cheek into the tiny fragments of broken china that littered the ground. He wrenched her arm upward again. Kendra screamed.

Other voices were yelling words she could not understand. She heard footsteps coming close to her. Sweat stung Kendra's eyes. Her breath came in ragged pants as she continued to struggle against her assailant. He grunted and shoved her pinned arm further into her back. Her bones cracked and her breath whooshed out of her lungs.

Desperate, Kendra struck out with her free hand, snake-like, and felt the broken bit of china connect with the man's arm. He yelped. The pressure on her back lessened. Kendra gasped for a breath. She wrenched herself to her side and tried to scrabble away. She heard the man cry out in rage, and then her head smashed into the floor again. Lights popped and haloed.

Everything went dark.


	4. Talos

When Kendra had come back to her senses, two men, each grabbing one of her arms, were dragging her along a wooden floor that she could only guess was in the recesses of the coffee house. At least that is where she hoped she was. Kendra didn't feel that she had been unconscious for long, but the pain that was ripping through her shoulder as the men drug her along made her wish she still was passed out.

She tried to lift her head to see where they were taking her, but just opening her eyes made a wave of dizzy nausea roar through her. The men stopped and said something in a language that she now could identify as Greek. She heard another voice reply, and then heard the sound of a door being opened. Then the men pulled her through a doorway and then manhandled her into a chair. Her captors spoke again to each other as they fumbled with her arms, and then she heard footsteps walking away. The door slammed.

Kendra sat slumped in the chair for a few minutes trying to gather her scattered wits as well as assess her physical condition. Her palm stung from the jagged bit of china that, in the end, had not won Kendra her freedom, but had elicited another head drubbing against the floor. Her right shoulder was on fire. Dislocated perhaps? She couldn't tell without moving it, and she dare not twitch a muscle. Her ribs were sore on the right side of her torso. Not broken, she thought, but still angry as hell. And her head. Kendra's brain felt as if an anchor had been dropped on her skull. Her jaw and side of her head were still aching where the man had tried to knock a hole in the floor with her head.

She slit open her eyes and found the nausea and dizziness dissipating. Blood dripped from her palm in measured crimson splashes onto the grimy floor. She wouldn't bleed to death from the wound, but it sickened her how the puddle of blood grew larger with each passing minute.

The room smelled of cigar smoke and the sour scent of fear. How many other women had sat cowering in this very chair?

_Dammit._ _These bastards aren't doing this to me. _

She raised her head a little higher. The room was small and cramped, dim and cluttered with pile of empty crates, brooms, and wash buckets. Her head swiveled around. There was only one piece of furniture in the room, and Kendra was sitting on it. And then she suddenly noticed something. They had tied her wrists to the arms of the chairs. A feeling of claustrophobia and impotence swept through her. When had they done that? It had registered in her brain at the time that when they were messing around with her wrists that they were actually tying her to the chair

Kendra tested her bonds. Tight as barnacle on the hull of the _Venture._ She swore. Momentarily defeated, Kendra's head slumped forward. Her hair, which had at some point been pulled out its pony tail, swung forward to cover her face. Her eyes were drawn to the sticky puddle on the floor. It was no longer bright red, but fading to a dull rust color. She'd been here at least a half an hour. They were trying to frighten her further by leaving her alone in the semi-dark room.

_Well_, thought Kendra fiercely, _I won't let them do that._ _If I am going to be scared, it'll be because I want to be sacred. _

Kendra didn't feel scared at all. She was terrified. She could smell her own fear. It soaked her blouse and poured off of her like breakers at high tide. Kendra strained against the ropes on her wrists. Sweating and grunting from the effort, she struggled until the chair was rocking back and forth.

A sense of urgency filled her. Kendra continued straining, legs straightening, arms pulling, fingers wiggling, wrists jerking from side to side. The ropes were loosening! Excited by her progress, Kendra rocked the chair harder and harder. With a sudden swooping tilt, the chair rocked up on two of its legs. Kendra went still. The chair teetered for a moment, and then fell, landing with a terrific crash on the floor.

The door flew open. Kendra saw two pair of sideways boots step into the doorway.

A disembodied voice said something in Greek, and then the man laughed. Kendra did not understand the words, but the she did understand their meaning. They were just going to leave her there the way she was. The door slammed shut.

Kendra leaned her head over to the floor. Tears slid down to the tip of her nose and plopped on the dusty floor.

_Heaven help me. Someone help me!_

But there was no one to help her. She had seen to that quite thoroughly. Kendra squeezed her eyes shut. Because of her stubborn foolhardiness, here she sat tied to a rickety fallen over chair, bleeding, bruised, and a prisoner in the recesses of a rundown coffee bar in the middle of an African seaport, for what purpose she could only guess. Acid burned the back of her throat. She didn't have to guess. She knew.

She knew what her intended fate was to be. Kendra knew enough of the world to imagine how life would be if she could not find a way out of this hellhole she had landed herself into. Kendra clenched her hands into fists. The slice in her palm re-opened, and blood oozed through her fingers. She found if concentrated on the pain, she could keep her fear at bay. Almost.

Kendra heard the door open. Three pairs of boots entered, and then the door clicked shut. Two pairs of boots flanked the doorway, and the third bore down on her in slow, measure footsteps. A pair of worn black leather boots appeared in her field of vision. A man bent over, grabbed the arm rests of the chair and gave a mighty yank. In a dizzying rush, Kendra was upright again. The room reeled in her vision for a moment, and then became still.

"It seems I have a fighter on my hands." The voice was cold and steady.

Cold foreboding filled her stomach, but she forced her eyes upward. Rough fingers suddenly grabbed her jaw and wrenched her head upward. Kendra flinched as she took in the man that was standing in front of her. She fixated on the thick white scar that started at one temple and ran through his puckered left eye and terminated on the bridge of his misshapen nose. The man's closely shorn hair was a storm cloud grey and stood straight up form his skull. The man still had a firm grip on her jaw. He adjusted her head to the left forcing her to look into his good eye.

Kendra blanched. His remaining eye was as black and soulless as a shark's.

"Please. Let me go." Her voice was tiny hoarse, not at all how she intended to sound. She hadn't intended to beg, either, but there was something about the man's callous, severe face that made her do it. If she had been able, Kendra would have fallen to her knees, grabbed on to his boots, and begged for her life. She was disgusted at her sudden cowardice.

The man released her chin and folded his arms across his barrel chest. "So polite. I was told you fought like a she-bear." He gave a short mirthless laugh. "I am a business man. Stunning, _American, alone_. A rare commodity." The man's voice hardened. "I now own you."

A feeling of despair washed through her. _Alone_. No one knew she had left the _Venture_. No one knew where she had gone. No one knew where she was. She tried to swallow, but terror had dried out her mouth and congealed into a palpable lump inside of her throat.

"You will call me Mr. Talos. Tell me your name."

After several seconds of trying to speak past her dry and paralyzed tongue, she finally whispered, "Kendra Wright."

"Well, Kendra Wright. Tell me why you are in Zarzis."

Fear goaded her tongue into action. "I am part of the crew of a tramp steamer called the_ Venture_."

Kendra's world exploded as the man delivered a stinging wallop across her face. The left side of her face stung and burned, her ear started ringing.

"Do not ever lie to me again." He snapped.

Skewering pain brought tears to her eyes. She felt as if the blow had knocked her jaw completely sideways. Kendra felt warm lines of blood running down her chin.

"You are a sailor just like Andreas here is King Constantine." Mr. Talos continued.

Andreas laughed behind Kendra. She hadn't even noticed the man moving from the door. Maybe four men had entered the room.

"Let me guess. You are the spoiled brat daughter of some self-important American businessman vacationing here in Zarzis." The man drew a rough finger down her jaw line. "Women go missing in this city all the time. They vanish into thin air." He snapped his fingers underneath her nose. "It is a shame. The Zarzis consulate is always so very apologetic and they do put on a good show of scouring the city. You will be just another unfortunate victim of the city. We will leave your bloodied clothes down by the beach. They will assume that you have been killed. If you ever try to leave, I will let Andreas work on you with his knives, and you will wish you really _were_ dead."

He stroked her injured cheek with a rough thumb. "And that would be a shame. You will be worth a _lot_ of money once your face heals." Talos leaned forward until she could feel his hot, foul breath on her cheek. He kissed the side of her neck and drew away. There was an overeager, libertine look on his face. He glanced over Kendra's shoulder at Andreas "She's covered in blood. See that she gets a bath."

Kendra wept.


	5. Eric

Eric's boot strikes on the cobbled street rang out with military precision as he hurried up the hill. His unshaven jaw clenched. He wielded his anger like a club, bludgeoning down every jab of anxiety that leapt up through his gut. Anger was the only way he was going to get through this. It kept his wits honed, his focus sharp, and his mind clear. Worry and fear were just emotions that served to slow his reflexes and muddy his vision. Emotions he told himself he felt because Kendra was a member of his crew that was in trouble.

Cresting the hill, Eric saw the coffee house on the left side of the twisting street. He stopped and leaned up against a stack of crates and lit a cigarette. He took a long drag, and then blew the bluish smoke out through pursed lips. Eric took another drag on his cigarette, and then threw it down. He ground the glowing butt under his booted heel.

They had discussed going back to the Venture to pick up Hayes, a dozen or so of the crew, and guns, of course, but the probability of Kendra being moved during that time was high. Kendra disappearing in the filthy warrens of Zarzis was not an option. If they did not find her here at The Veiled Camel, she would slip away and become as out of reach as a chain-less anchor.

The Veiled Camel was just far enough off the beaten track to attract those who had little regard for the law, but close enough to entice tourists who thought they were being daring. The location suited Talos' bustling black market business, trading in rum, opium, guns, and women, to a tee. Ruthlessness and a keen business sense had turned a modest little coffee house into the successful hive of vice and money making that is was. Talos could afford the exorbitant bribes the Zarzis officials demanded in exchange for a general oversight of his organization. The Greek conducted his business mostly unfettered, so Eric knew it would be asinine to try and involve the police. They would have little interest in listening to Eric. They would probably arrest him out of sheer annoyance for bothering them with such a 'frivolous' case.

So they would have to do this alone. Eric would go in and demand that Kendra be returned. There would be bargaining, at which point Eric would promise to exchange Kendra for guns and ammunition. Neves would stay in the background, posing as a drunken sailor. If anything went wrong, Neves was armed. It was a game they had played before with success before.

He adjusted his white cap and glared at the peeling paint on the front door of the_ meqah. _No one had come in or out for the past five minutes. He glanced to his right and saw Neves lounging against a store front, his chin tucked down on to his chest, hands stuffed into his dungarees. The sailor let out a tremendous belch and then spat. That was the signal. Neves was ready.

_Damn that woman._

The inside of the meqah was dark and smoky. To Eric, the place stank of corruption, coercion, and blackmail. A couple of Arabic men were smoking a hookah in the corner. Two sailors were bellied up to the bar drinking and jabbering away in Spanish. An olive-skinned woman with enormous brown eyes was lounging on a stool at the end of the bar. She looked up at him caught Eric's eye. He returned her stare, shook his head, and then made a quick horizontal cutting motion with his hand.

The woman gave Eric a petulant look, and then turned away.

Eric swept his cap off and tucked it under his belt.

There was a short, dark-haired man standing behind the bar. He was polishing a coffee cup with the edge of a bar towel that had once been white. Eric walked up to the bar. The man behind the bar placed the cup down and smiled a toothy smile.

"Greetings." The man's eyes darted to Eric's white cap. "_Captain_. What is your fancy today?"

The man spread his arms wide indicating the many jars, brass containers, and bottles stacked on the shelves behind the bar. "I have many things to choose from. Tea? Coffee? Ouzo? Or perhaps you would care to sample some of our more exotic fare?"

The man grinned again.

Eric grasped the edge of the bar and leaned forward. He decided that there was no time for banter.

"Talos has something that is mine. He didn't pay for it, and I want it back."

The dark-haired man cocked his head to one side as if he were perplexed.

"You are mistaken, I am sure. Talos is no thief. He is the proprietor of this fine business..."

"A white woman came in here about an hour and a half ago. She is a member of my crew."

The barkeep picked up another coffee cup and began polishing it. "I cannot say I have seen a white woman today."

Eric leaned in even further. He could smell garlic on the man's breath. "I know she is here."

The man's dark eyes flicked behind the Captain's shoulder. Eric felt someone step up behind him.

Eric smacked his fist on the bar. Several coffee cups rattled and bounced. "I know what this place is. I know who Talos is. That woman came in here, and I want her back."

The barkeep's black eyes went hard.

Just as Eric had predicted and wanted, the man who had stepped up behind him slipped a hand around Eric's upper arm.

"Is there a problem, Nikos?" A gravelly voice sounded in Eric's ear.

"Zeno, this man seems to think a white woman has come into the Veiled Camel today."

Eric twisted out of the grip on his arm and turned around. Eric stood nose to nose with one of the men who had been smoking hookah.

"Take me to Talos now."

"You are in no position to demand anything, Captain."

Eric lunged toward the hookah man, Zeno, and grabbed the front of his shirt. Before he could take a step forward, rough hands grasped both of his elbows and yanked him backward.

"I would not do that if I were you." A new voice sounded in Eric's ear.

Eric struggled in what he hoped was a convincing matter. "Let me go you fools."

Eric felt something hard jab into his back as Zeno strode forward. He jabbed Eric in the chest.

"Talos does not allow this kind of behavior in his establishment." Zeno growled.

"I know about the opium. I have proof!"

There was a brief silence after Eric's declaration, and then the man who had a revolver jammed into Eric's back spoke rapidly in Greek to Nikos. The barkeep gave a curt nod in response.

Zeno rifled through Eric's pockets. When the man found nothing there, he jammed his hands up Eric's pant legs and continued searching. The man grunted as he yanked Eric's _old kampfmesser _out of its thigh sheath.

_Damn!_ He'd forgotten about his small trench knife. He'd be sad to part with it. The small blade had saved his life twice during the Great War. Zeno slapped the blade down on the counter.

"Really, Captain." Nikos said. He covered the knife with his hand and slid it off edge of the bar discreetly. "Talos runs a quiet establishment." An unpleasant edge crept into his voice. "We'll have none of your filthy German brutality here."

Satisfied that Eric was now unarmed, Zeno and the unseen man shoved him forward toward the right side of the back of the bar. Eric resisted, leaning backwards and muttering complaints and accusations.

Zeno smacked Eric in the back of the head. "Shut up Fritzie."

Where was Neves? He should have come in by now. Below Eric's anger, a lacy panic began to swell. If he disappeared into the back of the bar without Neves knowing where…

The front door opened and a slash of light flashed across the interior of the bar. Eric purposely stumbled and fell to the floor. As he landed, Eric twisted around so he could see who had just entered.

Swaying slightly, Neves made his way toward the bar. "Eu quero um pouco de rum!" But before bellying up to the bar, Neves flicked his eyes over to Eric and grinned. "Rum!"

Eric was hauled to his feet and frog marched toward a sheet of hanging beads behind the bar. Zeno parted the beads and Eric was shoved through.

Eric found himself being propelled down a dark, cramped hallway. The procession of Englehorn, Zeno, and the still unidentified Greek thug turned left down an even darker passageway. Zeno, who led the way, stopped in front of a door and delivered three sharp raps.

Eric heard footsteps. The door opened wide enough for a man to poke his head out.

"**Talos is busy." **The man said in Greek.

**"This man is accusing Talos of stealing. Says he has proof. "** Zeno grabbed Eric by the collar and jerked him forward.

**"Who is he?" **The man inside the door demanded.

Zeno tightened his grip on Eric's collar."What the hell is your name?"

For a second, Eric debated whether or not disclosing his real name would get him on the other side of the door, the door that he was now fully convinced stood between himself and Kendra.

"I only speak to Talos."

The thug behind Eric rammed his head into the doorjamb.

"Name, you filthy swine!"

"Englehorn." Eric gasped.

Then, with reflexes honed in hours of hand to hand combat in the treacherous trenches of France and Belgium, Eric struck out at the man behind him, catching his captor in the throat with a well-placed backward thrust of his elbow. The man fell, clutching at his throat, rasping and choking. Zeno turned around, only to be greeted by Eric ramming his forehead into the surprised Greek's face. Zeno's head snapped back against the door jam and slid bonelessly to the ground.

The Captain burst through the door, panting. His eyes raked the inside of the room and quickly assessed situation.

It was not good. He could smell blood. His gaze settled on Talos, who was standing akimbo in front of a figure, slouched in a chair. Several splotches of half-dried blood stained the floor. Eric's jaws clenched reflexively.

He looked at Talos and couldn't help staring at the ropey white scar that slashed the man's face in half.

"I am busy." Talos said in a silky voice. He stepped away from the figure in the chair.

Terror as Eric Englehorn had never known knifed through his chest. It was Kendra. She was tied,_ tied_ to the chair, blouse was ripped open, a bruised shoulder and half her blood spattered brassiere exposed. She was trembling, but by damn, her chin was lifted in defiance.

_Well, that explains the blood, _Eric thought. He almost laughed out loud. Almost.

Now was the most crucial part of this whole charade. Kendra had to act a part she had no idea she was playing.

Eric wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"You traitorous little Jezebel!" He seethed.


End file.
